Twenty Minutes
by Anchorsify
Summary: Kitty and Piotr go on a date.


Phones were to be left behind. It was one of those things they'd both silently agreed to do when trying to go out on a date because they'd learned, after more failed attempts than they bothered to count, that if they didn't—

Her phone would ring. Or his, but right now it was _her_ phone in _her_ purse which was set beside _his_ chair. And if it weren't for the ringing, then she might still be smiling at the gesture of him protecting her purse from the dangers of _The Water Café_ and his insistence to pay by keeping her from being able to ninja out a credit card. But she was too preoccupied with giving a hazel-tinted glare at her own accessory in the hopes it would bow to her very real capacity to give it an untimely death.

But it just. Kept. Ringing.

He offered her a wan smile, genuinely comforting. And disappointed, though that had nothing to do with his face and everything to do with the sag of his shoulders and slight turn of dense forearms. They'd had to schedule the reservation a month in advance, right after their return from Wakanda and before their trip to a United Nations conference.

"Don't." It was a plea disguised as an order, quiet but forceful. Students learned to listen but he knew its hollow nature when directed at him and hesitated only to embolden that handsome countenance in her direction a moment more, reassuring her with a look.

"It will not stop, Katya."

He opened her purse and started digging. She made a sound vaguely reminiscent of her namesake and took the menu from in front of him as though to punish, though it was really just to keep busy, stacking them against the corner in an aesthetically pleasing way. There was no reason to bother looking at them now.

"It's—"

" _Da, da_." He gave a nod to dismiss the help she didn't finish giving because he was being stubborn trying to go through her things without _going through her things._ And it was a little too cute to bother ending prematurely just so that they could be told anew what was wrong with the world that they had to personally go deal with rather than be given one night out to themselves.

"It's Scott." He held the phone up for her to see the screen and offered it up, in case she wanted to speak to him herself. He had called her phone, after all. She shrugged away her enthusiasm to answer it, and he took that as a go-ahead to do so for her. " _Privyet, Scott._ " He handed over the purse in case she wanted to resort it, while he listened to the crisis of the hour.

She stood up, looking to the other tables. At the wines and desserts and the happy couples speaking in hushed tones to one another, sighing at the thought of how long it'd take to get to come back. Not as long as it felt like in the moment, having to leave before they'd even ordered drinks.

A large hand at the small of her back, brought her back to her senses. She looked up the expanse of a well-filled suit and flashed a smile to a distracted face that was trying to juggle too much. He touched her to comfort her and had to lower the phone Scott was trying to talking at him through to push in his own chair because he didn't have enough hands to do every courtesy he wanted.

" _Da_. We are not far. Twenty-five minutes." She arched a brow at his guesstimate and unnecessarily added, "From Central Park," to inform her by informing Scott.

"Mm.. Twenty." Her tone was half-correcting, half-curious as to what plagued New York on a Tuesday night to be worth suiting up for. Experience taught her not to worry overmuch about what she was going to find out soon enough, and to just try to enjoy the moment. Even if that moment was the both of them bailing on dinner still hungry and not in uniform just to get back into New York Traffic.

"I'll drive." She opened a hand, palm-up out to him while changing which held her purse to take his keys from him, leading the way back toward their car, his hand on her back ensuring he wasn't far.

When no keys materialized, she looked up and over to see him giving her a smile that said he'd be driving without saying anything because Scott was still speaking. She'd be more concerned over the latter's verbosity if it wasn't so likely that the seriousness of the situation was about on par with the seriousness of _every_ situation.

Which wasn't nice to even _think._ But she knew that was just her hungry tummy talking.

"I'm faster," She reminded him, causing him to relent his antiquated ways in favor of fishing for his keys and she walked a little closer to him just to not drift too far away. Would've walked even closer if her dress wasn't billowing as she was power-walking to keep up with him, knowing they were in something of a hurry.

She unlocked the car and whimsically pirouetted around behind him in a fit of graceful energy. "Jacket," she said in a sing-song way, just to warn him of what she was going to do before doing it. Her hand reached up to grab at the back of the collar and phase it through and off of him in one fluid motion. He was unaffected by it at all, opening the passenger door to shrink his great height down into the vehicle one piece of clothing lighter, saying goodbye to Scott in the process. She opened the trunk and tried not to think about how rare it was that they both got to dress up and pretend to be a normal couple. Did the problem at Central Park realize how rare it was for them both to dress up and spend some time alone?

She continued not _not_ -thinking on it as she withdrew both of their uniforms and then walked her way around the car to the driver's side, handing him his much larger bundle of clothing while slamming the door shut.

It was dark but the blue Marussia B2′s window tint was even darker, and the moonlight wouldn't be enough to let anyone see them shedding clothes, or shimmying into new ones. There was a long moment of silence for the death of their dinner date whilst shifting from civilians to superheroes, with Piotr the first to break the silence,

"Scott said—"

He was stopped with a dainty finger against his lips and a body moving to straddle his lap. She was already fully dressed for the fight about to happen but he was still shirtless, and it was no secret she knew how to use her power to quick-change outfits but he hadn't looked out of respect. It was not the time to be getting distracted.

"I don't care." What she **meant** was that she didn't want to know because the details would make their date truly a memory. Another _bad_ one, at that, and she didn't want that. "I.." She knew what she _did_ want but she found herself feeling fluttery when she went to say it, hands pressing against his abdomen and then running up along sharp muscle, too quick to admire their artistry. Up to his chest and shoulders to loop them around his neck as she couldn't quite bring her eyes up enough to find his. Not because of the view, though that was nice, but because—

"I want you."

Those three words _did_ shoot her eyes up to see the sensation she stumbled over reflected boldly amidst a speckled blue sea. She could feel the tension of his bluntness, the anxiety of working up the words, but _god._

She could only nod her intimate agreement and lean in to kiss him. Chaste, as they mourned together for another bad night made bearable by the other's presence. Nails threaded through black tufts and he tilted his head without further guidance to elongate a moment's respite into two. Into three, into _more_.

Into a roll of her hips that capitalized upon the small space they shared. Into firm hands running up and down along her sides to tantalize at the sensation of skin-tight spandex making it easier to enjoy his palm's pure path, and the struggle and slow failure to resist angling their way center and against her chest. She puffed out her modest offering as much from intensifying breathing as—

"We have mission, Katya."

She opened her eyes to find his not yet there. His hands were right where they both wanted them, and she tried her damnedest to test his convictions with every excitable inhalation. "I can get us there in five." And scare the _hell_ out of four miles' worth of New York citizens by phasing a car through buildings and people and whatever else obstructed a B-line to the park.

He looked at her a moment, confused, and then another, contemplative. For a second it seemed like he might actually take her up on her offer for the first time in _ever_ , might actually not—

" _Nyet_." Not _reject_ her offer and be the voice of reason for them both, though the truth was that she wouldn't follow up on her own offers, even if he did accept. She was never sure if he knew that or not, but her dedication to doing the selfless thing allowed her to pretend to be selfish, and made it just a little bit easier to deal with as a result.

She mewed again and began to shift toward the driver's seat, but was stopped by his hands moving to her waist to turn her without letting her leave his lap. It was not the most comfortable contortion, but she had ballet experience and he had a reason.

And the reason was right in front of him. Them, once she'd gotten herself semi-comfortable and was able to rest her head against his shoulder while sitting atop a thigh and amidst all his muscle.

It was the riverside view of New York they'd come for. Complete with a crescent moon and a dimly-visible array of stars and calm waters reflecting all of the above.

With one of his arms around her torso, the other threaded their fingers together. The hushed sensuality became something different—just as heavy but less urgent. It made him seem warmer and everything not-him seem colder and the only and obvious solution was to press herself against him to seek out that solace.

"Was good date."

 _That_ snapped her out of her romantic daze pretty abruptly, craning her head away from a naked shoulder to cascade her auburn veil, "Was **not**. We didn't even get to order _drinks_. And I know you haven't eaten since two because you wanted to split that dessert they make that looks like the Brooklyn Bridge. And I wanted to try their crab cake. It has _Avaca_ —" He shook his head and that was all it took to get her to stop complaining and hear him out as to _how_ their date wasn't a total disaster. _Which it totally was._

"The long-distance calls from Africa because Bobby could not find it. The plans we had for what to do after. The texts and pictures about clothing." It was more her showing him all the outfits she was deciding between and her ensuring he went to get a suit tailored to his size, because the place had a dress code and she knew he didn't own any.. and she'd wanted to see _him_ dressed up for once.

He'd dressed up _good_. She'd already made a mental note to find more excuses to get him in a three-piece suit. She agreed with _all_ his points, though she didn't say anything to express it beyond a lack of protest and a return to the act of draping herself against him. She rarely did anything as girly as ask him advice over what to wear and she'd asked Illyana the same and more to make sure he was being honest because she'd wanted to look good. It had been the best way to relax she didn't know she'd needed whilst discussing international politics with diplomats all day.

" _Not_ seeing each other until I brought the car around. Seeing you as a Princess on the steps. The sunset drive here." A large thumb rubbed lightly against the back of her hand, fingers squeezing in solidarity. "We have our whole lives to finish dates, Katya. Perfection is in the practice."

He kissed the top of her head while she kept her gaze on the night sky and nodded her agreement with a smile, hating how they had somewhere to be and that _knowing_ that made every moment harder to just accept for what it was. Harder to just _be_ and not stress about the fact that someone, somewhere, was in danger and that they couldn't possibly find the time to just be together.

"Bubble bath and massage after," He offered up to again lift her spirits from the depressive thoughts that kept plaguing her, as if telepathic. It worked, as sincerity framed the edges of her face whilst it torqued to see him through the lack of light.

"At the same time?" That meant it'd be a _two_ _-person_ bubble bath.

And his fallen expression confirmed it, dour masculinity returning. "Only if secret." Nobody needed to know the fact that he'd take a bubble bath. Especially since he'd be too nice to clarify that it was _with_ _her_ if she decided to let it slip and forget to mention it was a couple activity.

"Promise," She assured him with a quick kiss and brush of fingers against a cheek, crawling on over to the driver's seat.


End file.
